She sat across from me, not even noticing me. With a nonchalant gesture she set the short red skirt, then turned her gaze, concealed behind black glasses, through the window, to the people crowding the train station.
I observed her, charmed before I could realize it.
Surely into her thirties, black almost short hair, somehow wild. Her face of a natural olive complexion, small chin, regular nose. Her eyes, a mystery.
Her light red suit - in a resolute shade, as resolute the look on her face - clothed a graceful body of which I could appreciate the length of her unveiled legs and the mild neckline
She kept her gaze on the window even when the train moved, firmly watching far beyond the landscape running outside.
Only a glimpse to the stewardess to whom she asks for a coffee. Still, my presence wasn't noticed at all.
I turned my attention back to my reading, trying to conceal the increasing interest gathered by my travel mate, but couldn't help to return, every now and then, to slide my gaze form the printed pages to her legs, to her tight lips - lips that I figured made to rather smile.
A phone rang annoyingly. She roused and took the device from her purse.
"Hello".
I could hear her sound, loud voice.
She listened for a long minute, then "No."
I saw her biting her lower lip, shaking her head, tilting it back, deeply breathing and eventually, with clear voice: "Marc... fuck you!!" shutting the call off.
The phone dropped on her lap. From behind her sunglasses, twin tears lines started to mark her cheeks.
I probably should have diverted my gaze, out of modesty or respect, but I did not. Instead, I took a tissue out of my pocket and placed it on the small table between us. For several minutes her tears kept flowing slowly, quietly, her black glasses stuck on a far place beyond the mountains.
I tried to read again, not putting much effort into it, When I raised my eyes again, few pages after, the tissue was in her hands, taking off last wet traces from her face. She were still not watching me, but a contact had been established.
The train was running along the coast, siding crowded beaches, stopping at a couple of tourist places where some passengers left and the wagon went soon almost empty.
The lady dosed off, her arms wrapped around her breasts, her head tilted on the back of the seat. I looked at her face relaxing, her body giving in, the arms slowly falling into her lap.
I got back to read, but after few moments my attention was caught by the physical contact of our feet: the relaxing, the train swinging were making her lightly slide down the seat toward me.
I noticed that the skirt were raising along her tanned thighs: I couldn't help but tilt my head and got rewarded by a glimpse of salmon panties. Did nothing to avoid her ankles to rub into mines.
The woman moved into her sleep and crossed her legs, exposing part of a perfect round buttock.
The contact and the sight were arousing me, so gave up with the book, abandoning it on my legs.
She was sliding further, so her legs were almost rubbing on mines and I could catch some muscular contractions of her thighs against each other. Just like a contraction which got to repeat slow and pace less; left leg, straddled on the right one, slowly raised and fell causing an imperceptible rub of her thighs as well as her calve on my own leg. Small vibrations under her eyelids revealed she was dreaming, which kind of dreams were pretty clear to me.
The situation was making my heat growing further than just the summer could explain, and some sweat started to wet my forehead.
I watched hypnotized those thighs stroking into each other more and more intensely for several minutes. The contact between us made her excitation pass on me, and I realized I was breathing at the same pace of her strokes.
Her own breath was getting heavier and shorter. At a stronger shake from the train she moaned and woke up. Dizzy, she uncrossed her legs so, since her skirt were considerably raised, I could spot a large wet dot on the fabric of her panties.
She got aware of her position and of my gaze and for the very first time she looked back at me. She said nothing, neither changed her expression. She just rose up on the seat, closing her legs but neglecting to set the skirt back in place.
In spite of her dark glasses, I was sure her eyes were stuck on me. Feeling a little uncomfortable, I didn't divert mines, neither smiled or said a word. In my mind I was thankful the book on my lap were concealing the hard on inside my pants.
She bent over, just to waste the tissue she had held in her hand so far. Then she reached for her purse, stood up, turned her gaze on me once more and walked along the hallway, eventually lowering her skirt.
With all my senses on fire, I watched her disappear inside the wagon's cabinet.
I waited for the train to move again, then I addressed myself to the same place. Approaching the end of the coach, I noticed that the led which should have informed the travellers of the toilet being in use was off, so I wasn't totally surprised when I checked the door and found it unlocked.
I stood still for some seconds, my heart hammering in the chest, refusing to rationalise what I was about to do. I grabbed the handle and opened the door.
She were standing in front of the washbasin, half naked. The suit's jacket fold and resting on the purse, placed on a ledge. I realized her tan was without lines.
She paused from searching in a small case to look at my reflex in the mirror: the sunglasses still denied her gaze. She did not speak, did nothing to cover her breasts, nicely shaped and firm. She just watched at me quietly.
I slipped inside and, to shut the door, I was forced to lightly press my body on hers. She didn't show any shock or worry as I locked the door. I returned her gaze with the whole intensity I was feeling.
